Once Upon Avenger's Tower
by The Alien of Pluto
Summary: Jefferson's hat can only touch worlds with magic. He's not sure if it's a rule or just an annoying quirk, but he wants to test it; and he wants to find a world without magic. Steve couldn't care less about magic. He just wants to find Bucky.
1. Then

**_Post-Avengers_**

**_Pre-Curse_**

**_...I don't know what I'm doing._**

* * *

The White Rabbit is a portal jumper of a special sort. He doesn't need a magic hat like Jefferson's, or a magic bean like that pirate they had rather unfortunately encountered in Neverland. He is his own portal, and flows between the worlds with ease (if you call crawling on your hands and knees in the dirt and then falling for varying amounts of time 'easy'). He never gets trapped, never worries that his magic can be stolen. But everything has a price.

The lands press against one another in a long line, except when they stack on each other in rows (parallel worlds that contain only slight differences between them, which Jefferson finds fascinating), and the Rabbit has to travel through that line linearly. He can't skip any but the parallel ones, yet he can move backwards or forwards as he wishes. This is his price.

And Jefferson pities him for it. Though the hat has its own set of rules, orderliness is not one of them. He can open any door he chooses as fancy strikes, and stroll unhindered to the world it connects to. Order, both he and the hat have decided, is for boring folk.

Still, there is one thing he admits is an upside to the Rabbit's natural skill. He has to travel through _all_ worlds, including those without magic. Jefferson's hat can only touch those _with_ magic.

He's not sure if it's a rule, or just an annoying quirk, but this is one thing he wants to test the hat on. (The only reason Rumplestiltskin hires him in the first place is to find a magic-less world; he would use the Rabbit, but the little ball of fur is impossible to catch if he doesn't want to be caught, and he doesn't, not by the Dark One).

"Come on, Rabbit, give me a hint!" It's a slow day in this far corner of Oz, and Jefferson is between jobs right now. It's the perfect time to go exploring. "A direction to start with would be nice! What does it _feel_ like?"

Something Jefferson had discovered in his first few jaunts around the hat was that each world (and its corresponding door) has a different energy unique to itself. Even the parallel worlds, to some degree, have a singular aura. The Enchanted Forest, for instance, is syrupy-sweet and almost drowning in magic, while Agrabah is sharp and its magic stretched thin. Jefferson often plays like he's dying with his need to know what a world without magic feels like. Is it flat? Bitter, empty, lemon scented?

"I can't help you."

Jefferson throws an arm over his eyes, and groans, "Urgh, Rabbit!"

The realm jumper rolls his eyes, and pulls his watch from his blue velvet waistcoat. He's well used to Jefferson's theatrics, and most of the time he tolerates the man because he finds him amusing. But today the clock is ticking forward alarmingly fast.

"You're wasting your time, Hatter," he says in a small but insistent voice.

Jefferson inwardly cringes at the name, more so than the rebuking (he's been getting the same song from the rabbit for years now, and he stopped expecting a new tune a long time ago). He hates being called Hatter. It's so impersonal. And he's sure that Rabbit hates being called so just as much, but they don't trust each other enough to give their real names. A few deals and bump-intos here and there aren't enough to distract them from the knowledge that the Rabbit has terrible mental defenses and a low pain tolerance, and that Jefferson is as easily bought as a loaf of bread.

"Now," the Rabbit says, patting Jefferson's knee and picking up the small basket he hadn't noticed Jefferson stealing cookies out of earlier, "I've got six worlds left to jump and I'm late for tea with my cousin. I'd best be off."

Jefferson slouches, shakes his head. The bunny's always late for something, and it ticks him off. He prefers to show up to things when it's convenient for him (unless, of course, he's meeting Rumple, and then he's always exactly on time. It's hard to jump worlds when you're a snail. He knows, he's tried) but then again, the hat can take him to any world, any when, and he supposes the other can't do that.

"You're welcome to join us, of course," the Rabbit offers, as a small, perfectly round hole opens up in the dirt in front of them.

"Aw, but the Hare is _weird!_ And he's always throwing things at me." Jefferson shudders. "So I'd rather not join your mad tea party, thank you. I'm going to go find myself a land without magic!"

The Rabbit shrugs, and bounds off into his hole. The dirt seals up behind him, and Jefferson is left alone. He takes his time wandering back through the forest the short way he and the rabbit had walked. It's a cool day, sunny and cloudless, not that he can really tell beneath the thin, unbroken canopy of leaves over his head. The forest is silent, and Jefferson picks his way across uneven, stony ground unhurried and undisturbed. Eventually, he comes upon the lone stone-and-emerald arch draped with ivy that serves as his gateway back to the hat, and steps through.

Cool, dark marble meets his shoes as he enters the Realm Room. His footsteps echo up the red silk walls and off the various doors surrounding him. The ones that he can see are only a small portion of the worlds he has access to, and he's been to all of them. He needs to find a new one; one that leads to somewhere magic doesn't exist.

He walks to the centre of the Room and considers for a moment where in the whole of the infinite realms he wants to look today. Somewhere far away from Wonderland, he thinks, as steeped in magic as it is.

Jefferson closes his eyes, sticks his arms out, and spins himself around as he so often sees children doing. His thoughts guide the hat as it searches, and when he opens his eyes, five doors are spread out around the circular chamber. He stumbles, a bit dizzy, but hurries over to examine one.

It's silver, and shiny, made of metal. There's a thick handle on the left side under painted red script that reads 'caution - geniuses at work.' Thick hinges cover most of the right side, kind of useless in a hat where none of the doors touch the walls, but he supposes they're necessary in whatever world is on the other side. He just hopes they're not there to keep something dangerous inside, and that he isn't walking in the wrong way.

Because, he thinks as he ruffles his hair, he is going through. The land on the other side feels flat and lemon- fragranced, just like he asked for. So Jefferson grasps the handle, turns it down, and gives the door a good push.

It swings open easily.

**0o0o**

Tony Stark has seen plenty of things since he first became a superhero. Evil family friends, backstabbing secretaries, aliens in New Mexico, glow-y mind controlling spears, aliens in New York…It's gotten his 'weird things' tolerance pretty high. So when a man in way too much leather and with a little too much eyeliner on comes stumbling into his lab through a locked door, he doesn't give it too much thought.

He's alone except for JARVIS, his brilliant AI, who's watching from both security cameras and the HUD in Tony's helmet. He's got a screwdriver in one hand, a half-finished glove from the latest Iron Man suit on the other, and a sweating glass of Scotch on the table. Metallica throbs from multiple speakers around the room, loud enough (thankfully, because sometimes he needs to unwind) that Tony can't hear himself think. He doesn't hear the door open, either.

JARVIS cuts the music off and, startled, Tony glances up. Some handsome weirdo wearing more leather than a cow stands just inside the lab, his hands over his ears and his eyes opened wide. The door slowly closes behind him and Tony can see one of the framed schematics of the first Iron Man suit on the beige wall before it shuts.

"You have a visitor, sir." JARVIS announces inside the helmet.

"Really?" Tony deadpans, "What have I told you about letting strange men into the Tower, J?"

"Absolutely nothing, sir. We haven't talked about 'stranger danger' since you brought that blonde home in Malibu."

Tony finds that he doesn't have an answer to that. He watches as the man slowly lowers his hands and looks around curiously until he sees Tony. He stiffens.

"How'd he get in here, JARVIS?"

"Uncertain at this point, sir, but the room he came through was quite empty before he opened the door."

Tony stands up, aims the glove at the fruitcake with ascot. It's only half put together and isn't much more than a glorified flashlight at this point, but if he's dumb enough to break into Avengers Tower, then Tony figures he's not likely to call his bluff.

"Who the H- are you?" Tony demands out loud, his voice tinny through the helmet.

"Forgive me; there's not usually anyone on the other side when I come through these things." The man turns and glares at the door like its let him down somehow. Then he looks at Tony and smiles. It's dazzling, and lights his whole face up (though it's kind of a dark, reddish, ominous sort of light, Tony thinks, and decides to classify it as a leer). "I'm Jefferson."

"Charmed. How'd you get in here?" Tony drops the screwdriver, keeps the repulsor glowing, and steps cautiously closer. He hopes there's nothing wrong with JARVIS that this man's made it up a hundred plus floors unhindered. He has just finished recalibrating the sensors to detect Thor beaming in before the demigod arrives; he was a bit drunk at the time though, maybe he touched something he shouldn't have.

"Through the door," is the cheeky answer. "I'm a portal jumper from another realm. Apologies…for dropping into your home unannounced."

Tony lifts the faceplate with a small cue to JARVIS and the man relaxes a little. "Another realm?"

"I'm a peaceful explorer, I promise. I mean no harm." Jefferson holds his jacket open and Tony gets a good look at the black leather pants, red leather vest, and the inside of the brown leather coat. He wonders what possessed the man to make him leave the house wearing all of that. "Look, I carry no weapons."

JARVIS scans him, and quietly confirms it. Tony lowers the glove (his arm was starting to hurt anyways). "And you just happened to show up in my Tower…how?"

Jefferson shrugs. "I don't control where the hat opens its doors."

There's a moment of silence as Tony studies the stranger, and then, "Ohh," he cheerily drawls. "You are _high_ as a kite. You need to meet the others! I'm Tony Stark, by the way."

He waves the man closer and then leads him out of the lab. At the very least, Clint (he'd prefer Natasha but Miss Espionage is halfway around the world right now) can keep an eye on the guy while Tony wheedles out a proper answer and possibly does some blood tests. If he is from another realm, and not just some nut with a leprechaun's blessing of luck, it will show up. And then they can ask the fun questions.

Jefferson hesitates at the elevator, wondering what the purpose of such a tiny, empty room is if not for torture (why else would Tony be leading him in here?). But the other just explains that it's a lazy alternative to stairs and that the people he wants to introduce are at least seven floors down.

Tony finally convinces Jefferson to join him, and presses the button for the community floor. He's a bit disappointed when the man who doesn't recognize simple technology is only a bit impressed by the doors opening to a different hallway. But then, he supposes, if the guy does open portals in doorways, this would be a familiar cup of tea.

Jefferson comments on the opulent décor, and it's all the invitation Tony needs to blather on about the richest floor in his green-energy masterpiece of a building. He shows off the gold-framed paintings and the million dollar trinkets sitting open on sculpted pedestals as they pass, boasting as he hadn't had a chance to since Steve's last chewing out. He thinks that maybe he might keep this intruder who keeps switching between asking where the torch sconces are and wondering aloud how Tony came by such an impressive collection. He knows it's just calculated blandishing of course, but it's a nice change from the ingrates he lives with who don't even pretend.

He's asking Jefferson about his world when he hears a door opening in front of them. Steve stands in the threshold to let them pass, and he freezes when they do. Tony ignores the soldier, but Jefferson gives him a curious stare as they go by.

"…Bucky?" comes a whisper behind him, and Jefferson turns, curiosity in his expression. He barely ducks the swinging punch that cracks the concrete wall beside them.

"Steve!" Tony shouts, throwing his hands up and stepping forward to fend off another attack.

"Who are you?!" the blond, at least a head taller than either of them, demands. He pushes Tony to the side, and drags Jefferson closer by the collar of his leather jacket.

Jefferson doesn't stutter, but he definitely flinches. Physical violence was never his thing. "My name is Jefferson! I'm-"

"Why do you look like him?!" Steve gives him a shake, Jefferson's head snaps back.

"Like _who?"_ he yelps. His neck aches, and he's in a new world that he doesn't understand, and he's being manhandled for an answer that he doesn't have. Some context would be lovely. He tries to pry the other man's hands off his coat, but his fingers are immovable as stone.

"Steve, let him go!" Tony puts a hand on the man's shoulder, holds his gaze when furious blue snaps to stare at him. "This guy's some kind of alien. He's from another world, like Thor. Except when Thor says 'realm' he means 'planet on the other side of the universe, and when this guy says it I'm pretty sure he means 'other dimension.'"

Steve gives Jefferson a quick look-over before dropping his hands. He shakes them out like they've been burned. Jefferson turns away, keeping Steve in his peripheral version, and flicks his collar back into place. The people in this land are crazy, he thinks. "Who's Thor?"

"Eh," Tony brushes the question away with a wave of his hand, "You might run into him later. Don't worry about it. This," he says, grandly gesturing to the blond, "is Steve Rogers, America's golden boy. Best stick to Captain America, until he warms up to you a bit."

Jefferson eyes the Captain warily. "Pleasure," he deadpans, sticking out his hand.

"Likewise." Steve grits his teeth, and shakes just a little too hard, but Jefferson can see the hurt behind his eyes. His tongue itches to ask for the story that put it there.

"Cap, this is-"

"My name's Jefferson," he interrupts, "I'm a portal jumper from the Enchanted Forest." He grins smugly, like it's something to be proud of and not just the load of crazy it sounds like.

Steve glances at Tony, who shrugs and stage-whispers, "He walked through a doorway that JARVIS swears was empty beforehand, so I figured I'd just go with it."

Jefferson purses his lips and straightens his ascot, trying to ignore the two stares aimed his way. Usually he doesn't mind the attention (and he doesn't now, everything he does is for show), but while he sort of trusts Tony not to snap him in half, he wonders at what kind of creature Steve Rogers is to punch through rock.

"JARVIS?" Steve isn't quite glaring, but his fists are clenching and opening with irate energy.

"Captain Rogers." The AI's voice is smooth and echoes around the hallway from somewhere in the ceiling.

Jefferson's eyes widen, and he looks around delightedly. "You have a genie?"

"Scan him," Steve orders. "I want age, blood-type…planet of origin if you can."

"I've run all of the scans I can, Captain, but the results are incomplete. Something is interfering with my sensors."

"That'll be the magic," Jefferson says lightly.

"Well, what can you tell me?"

"He is approximately 23 years of age. And he is not from Earth."

"Thanks, J, I can take it from here." Steve is as good as Clint for what he's about to do.

Tony pulls something small and square out of his pocket. He flips it over, feigning nonchalance, and then grabs the stranger's wrist, turns his hand over, and jabs his finger before he can react.

"Ow! What was _that?"_

"Blood sample." Tony grins. Steve twitches but doesn't argue, and he's relieved. He knows Cap needs answers too much to object to his invasion.

Jefferson looks alarmed, and presses a finger over the bleeding pad of his thumb. "I need that back."

"Pff." Tony ignores him, grabs him by the elbow and steers him back in their original direction. He slips the needle into a slot on the wall as they pass. Rogers follows behind them silently.

"It's just a little blood, nothing to worry about. It's not like you can put it back now, anyway."

"It only takes a drop-" to make dark potions. But if they don't know that (because it's impossible to miss the looks Tony gets whenever he mentions magic, and he's desperately hoping he's got the right world even though he knows he hasn't) then he isn't going to clue them in.

"Well, I only took half a drop, so you're fine, fancypants. C'mon, I want you to meet Bruce." He figures that if JARVIS can't make sense of the man's DNA, maybe the good doctor can. And it hasn't escaped him just how awed Jefferson seems at the technology around him. He looks more out of place than Steve did on the surveillance tapes of his first few weeks, which Tony's only seen because he hacked into SHIELD so many months ago at the start of this whole Avengers business. He wants to put the man in a nice big room full of big shiny computers and leave him stranded, just to see what he'll do.

Jefferson remains silent all the way to the common room, brooding about the blood sample. Steve too, though Tony thinks he's probably brooding about something else. When they get there, the hallway opens up into a circular room bigger than most people's houses, both lengthwise and up-and-down wise. A widescreen tv takes up most of the wall to their immediate right, playing some muted, old-school black-and-white movie Tony doesn't recognize. Clint is sleeping, sprawled upside down on an armchair, with his head hanging over the edge, and one foot propped on the back. A couple of other chairs and two couches are scattered around the room, the majority of them facing the television. A small kitchenette is tucked in the back of the room, empty at the moment, but stocked with snacks and all of Tony's favourite kinds of alcohol.

Jefferson is lucky enough to take most of it in _before_ he notices the movie screen. When he does, his eyebrows disappear into his carefully chaotic hair and his black-lined eyes widen.

"It's...like the Queen's mirror." Only bigger, and, rather than holding only a single face, it appears to be a whole host of players running about. He can only imagine what horrible things those people had done to end up trapped in there.

"Hey, why don't you stay here while I get Bruce?" Tony says, pushing Jefferson down onto the nearest couch and shoving a remote at him. "This movie doesn't look…too boring. Here's the volume, don't wake Barton, be back in a sec!" And he's gone.

Jefferson examines at the thick wand in his hand. It's black, and spotted with multi-coloured knobs. He can't remember which one Tony told him to press. He doesn't think the man actually pointed to any of them, just threw the wand at him and ran.

Steve, standing behind the couch, uncrosses his arms to offer grudging help when JARVIS' low voice interrupts.

"Captain Rogers? May I speak to you in private?"

Jefferson glances up sharply and his eyes follow Steve out of the room. It's unnerving, having a man who looks so much like his best friend sitting in the Tower, and Steve feels his gaze on his back. He ducks into the first empty room he finds and shuts the door behind him.

"What is it, JARVIS?"

"Am I right, sir, in thinking that your discomfort about Mr. Stark's new guest stems from his resemblance to Sgt. James Barnes?"

Steve inhales sharply. "Yeah."

"I have analyzed the blood sample Mr. Stark collected and I can assure you that they are not the same man."

Steve nods to the empty room, knows that JARVIS can see on any of the many monitors he's sure litter the place. He isn't sure whether he feels relieved or not. "Thanks JARVIS."

"If Mr. Jefferson is indeed from another realm, as he originally claimed, it may simply be that-"

"Thank you. JARVIS. Really. I'll be fine." Steve turns around, puts his hand on the doorknob. "I understand that you'll need to tell Stark if he goes looking, but unless he asks, can you…keep that information to yourself?"

"Of course, Captain."

Steve takes two steps out into the hallway before JARVIS adds, "You might want to rescue Mr. Jefferson from Agent Barton, Captain."

Steve quickens his pace, nearly runs the short distance to the common area. They've left some medieval dandy alone in a room with a sleeping assassin; Clint may not be as trigger-happy as Natasha but he is just as deadly, and they'll be lucky if the stranger is still alive.

He makes it in time to see Barton stick a knife up to the portal jumper's bare throat. The assassin's got a grip on the puffed red ascot, and he's backed the man against the left wall. Jefferson's hands are raised in surrender, but for some reason he doesn't look too afraid. Maybe he is crazy.

"Hawkeye, stand down."

Clint glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Steve nods pointedly at him, and he pushes away, though he keeps the knife out, dancing it between his fingers.

Jefferson scowls and fixes his neckpiece. "Is that normally how people in this world greet one another or am I just special?"

"Well," Tony drawls, stepping into the room with Bruce, "You did pick the biggest tower full of the world's most paranoid people to drop in on. So it's kinda your fault."

"I don't pick where the hat opens its doors," Jefferson says again. He sizes up Bruce, and then gives an elegant, if not greatly exaggerated, bow. The man is, after all, the only one in this place who hasn't tried to kill him at first sight. It's a nice change of pace for a poor fellow whose job usually ends up with him running for his life.

There's a beat of silence after he straightens out wherein Bruce's expression turns dazed and he gives a little wave in return. Then Tony shakes his head and spins to his companion and blurts, "That's twice he's said that. Does that sentence actually make sense to anyone? Because if it does, I'm going to feel very put out. _I'm_ supposed to be the genius."

Barton rolls his eyes, and Steve almost joins him.

"So can anyone tell me why there's some nut with a leather fetish prancing around the tower by himself? Tony?" Clint looks rather accusing and Tony can't help but take that personally.

"Don't give me that look, Katniss. Why would it be my fault? Why is it _always_ my fault? Bruce, tell featherhead it's not always my fault."

"It is always your fault, Tony." Bruce ignores the billionaire's pout and walks over to the stranger. He extends one hand, keeps the other tucked close and fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt. "Bruce Banner," he says.

"Jefferson." He considers adding 'at your service,' but the last time he did that, he ended up being assigned a contract killing, and getting out of that with his limbs still attached hadn't been easy.

"So what was that about hats and doors?" Banner asks, dropping his hand and stepping back. He doesn't offer anyone to sit and Jefferson tries not to take it to heart; they're a little weird in this world.

"I'm a portal jumper," Jefferson says, and he wonders how many more times he'll end up saying it before the day is done. "My portal opens doors to other lands, like this one, Wonderland, the World Without Colour…" he flaps his hand as he trails off. He doesn't want to elaborate on the fact that his portal is his hat, though he's sure it wouldn't be too hard to figure out with everything he's already said. He's hoping they'll forget about that bit if they ever try to find their way through to it.

"Wonderland?" They look skeptical.

"You've heard of it?"

_"Oh_ yeah," Tony says, "Pretty much every kid on Earth has read _Alice in Wonderland_."

"Who's Alice?" Jefferson silently weighs the possibility of her being a portal jumper like himself, and wonders if she's still around. Maybe he'll run into her some time, and she can explain this strange world to him over tea like decent folk.

Tony's face scrunches up in a way that silently says 'never mind, it's not important.' "So how'd you pick our fabulous world-door to bust through uninvited?" He walks over to the couch and flops down on it.

Slowly, everyone follows to claim seats of their own. Barton chooses a chair facing Jefferson, and waits until everyone else is seated before plopping down. Steve sits on the stranger's immediate left; Bruce takes the couch with Tony.

"I was looking for a world without magic," Jefferson admits, lounging in the most comfortable armchair he's ever had the pleasure of resting on, "and yours is the closest I've found."

"Magic doesn't exist," Tony says.

Jefferson looks between the other men, eyebrows raised. "You must have some magic," he says.

Steve shrugs, Bruce tips his head, and Clint just blinks.

"Magic is for babies. It's fairytale. Not real." Tony is adamant.

"Bu-"

"Stark, don't tell me you haven't you heard the reports about Steven Strange?" Clint speaks over Jefferson, voice incredulous. Tony is usually bouncing around like an excitable eight year old trying to dig up all of SHIELDs secrets; he doesn't believe he hasn't uncovered this one.

"What about the Tesseract?" Steve adds.

"Or Thor and Loki," Bruce chimes in.

"Or-"

"Yeah, whatever." Tony waves off Steve's next smartass answer. "So there's technology we don't understand yet. It doesn't mean that magic is a thing."

"But magic does exist!" Jefferson defends. He leans forward in his seat, waves around hands weighed down by thick rings as he asks, "Can you not feel it? It threads through your world like a child's first stitches (thin and faltering) but it's still here. I can feel it in your friend, there."

He points to Clint, and Barton tenses; there's only one reason he'd feel anything like magic, and he hasn't got a chance to put an arrow through its eye yet. But it's been months. Loki's magic is still in him? Outwardly, he shuts down.

Jefferson notices, and has the decency to look apologetic. Obviously, the assassin's encounter with magic hadn't been a pleasant one.

"Prove it," Tony says suddenly.

"What?"

"Prove to me that magic exists. Go…turn Steve into a frog or something."

Jefferson sinks back into his chair, lifts his hands in a kind of shrug. "I don't have magic."

"You _don't_ have magic?" Steve demands.

Jefferson looks at him like he's just asked the dumbest question he's heard in a long time, "Of course not. Not everyone has magic."

"What about those magic portals?" Clint asks.

"It's a unique skill." And mostly about finding the right enchanted item at the right time and bonding it to you, but he doesn't think that bit's worth mentioning. He kind of needs that hat.

"Right, so you can't prove that magic exists. There you go, someone give me a cigar! Actually, give it to Bruce, I don't like to be handed things."

"I didn't say that." Jefferson leans forward again, indignant. "Why don't you come on a trip with me? Name a world. I can take you to any time, any place you can think of. They'll all have magic."

"Any time?" Steve breathes. Clint hears him, shoots him an unreadable look.

"You think," Tony says, "that I'll get in the car with some strange man just because he offers me candy?"

"…What?"

Bruce takes pity on him, and says, "He means that he doesn't trust you. You're an alien from a different dimension, who's to say you won't kill us the second we turn our backs? Or lead us to a world with…with a toxic atmosphere and leave us there?"

Jefferson giggles. "Why would I kill you? You can't pay me if you're dead."

"Pay you?" Clint pulls a collapsible arrow out of some hidden pocket or other, and extends it. He doesn't miss the awed look on the stranger's face, so he starts twirling it around his fingers like a parade baton, only slightly showing off.

"Of course," Jefferson says. "Portal jumping doesn't pay the inns, you know. Gold does. If you accept the deal, I will take you to any one world and back, and will gladly take payment for my services."

"You're a charlatan," Tony decisively accuses, curling one corner of his mouth up.

Jefferson just grins at them, all smugness with a complete lack of shame.

"Well, we'd _love_ to take you up on that offer," Tony says, pushing to his feet, "considering you have something to prove and I, the genius billionaire skeptic, have something to disprove, but I am the only one who can afford your price, you thieving dandy, you, and I say wait up. Before any of the crazy happens, let's do some tests." He claps a hand on Bruce's shoulder. Banner looks torn between seeing an alien world and joining Tony on his mad scientist shtick.

The humour is gone from Jefferson's face now. "You already collected blood."

"Ye_p!_ And now we wanna do some other poke-y prod-y things with needles and see how your supposed other dimension ticks. The interference JARVIS is getting off of you is fantastic! Don't worry; the examinations won't hurt a bit. Might just be a slight pinch here and there. Unless ya fuss. Please don't fuss."

Jefferson doesn't skitter, but he does jump hastily to his feet, and backs behind the chair. He shakes his head and shrugs his hands. "Why don't we negotiate?"

"Does he look like he's fussing, Bruce? I think he looks like he's fussing." Tony takes several sauntering steps across the living room.

"Tony, if he doesn't want to-"

"Aw, c'mon! No one lets me touch Thor and he's just from a different _planet!_ This guy's from another _dimension! _Think of the science, Banner."

Jefferson rolls his eyes, then turns and bolts. He'd been so close to making it through a deal in another world without having to run for his life, but there is always something. He takes a chance and snatches the weird looking trinkets off the pedestals as he runs, and stashes them in his coat. He's had so much practice that it hardly slows him down. His goal is the door he came through; one came through, only one can go back.

JARVIS keeps an eye on him. The AI lets the elevator take him to the right floor despite its occupant's confused button-pushing, and opens doors as needed. Mr. Stark's threating bodily harm is a little unfair, after all, and the man _has_ been attacked thrice today. Besides, the billionaire has been complaining about the decorations on this floor for weeks, and JARVIS never has liked them.

In the living room, Clint sighs. "I'll get him."

But Steve goes charging after the portal jumper before Barton can do more than bounce out of his seat, and they hear as he crashes into the wall when he fails to take the corner sharp enough. Barton just shrugs, swipes the remote off the floor, and collapses onto the couch with Bruce. Tony pouts in the corner.

The Captain catches up to the stranger at the entrance to Tony's lab. Why JARVIS has let him in he doesn't know or care. Steve tackles him over the threshold and they go sprawling onto the gleaming, metal-plated floor. He lands on top of the other man, and Jefferson wheezes as the air is knocked out of his chest. Steve climbs to his feet, drags Jefferson with him by his collar.

Jefferson coughs, and chokes out, "This is twice you've tried to kill me."

"If I wanted you dead," Steve says in a voice that leaves no room for doubt, "you'd be dead."

He pushes the other man back until his hips hit a metal counter, and he pins him there, ignoring the wince this elicits. "Earlier," Steve continues, "you said 'any time.'"

Jefferson stares up at the soldier. He pulls at Steve's hands; Steve drops them to his sides and takes a step back. "Yes," he hisses through a sharp grin. "I can take you backward or forward. Just think of the time and the place you want to go, and we'll have an adventure…for a price."

Steve looks disgusted. The fact that this man has Bucky's face sickens him. But he has a chance right now, to go back seventy years, to make things right if he can. If that means that he has to deal with this slimy knockoff for a few hours, then he will. "…We don't use gold anymore."

Jefferson shrugs. "Can't help you, then."

He makes to walk past Steve, but the soldier grips his arm in a vise and pulls him back around to face him.

"I guess…" Jefferson concedes, "we _could_ make a deal."

"What do you want?"

Truthfully, Jefferson doesn't need gold. He has gold. He was lying when he said portal jumping doesn't pay. _His_ portal jumping pays very well, in the employ of one Rumplestiltskin. But Jefferson has never been one to pass up the opportunity for _more_, whatever that more is. He taps his chin in thought.

Steve doesn't let it show how much this is hurting him. He stands there quietly while this twisted doppelganger puts on a show. He doesn't care what the price will be; he'll pay it gladly.

Finally, Jefferson holds up one ring-heavy finger and opens his mouth.

The Tower bucks underneath them. Something cracks, glass shatters. Jefferson is launched nearly off his feet and crashes into Steve. A siren howls. Red lights flash.

"Stay here!" Steve orders, shoving Jefferson to the ground and pushing him under the metal table. It's bolted to the floor; he should be fine. The stranger looks ready to have a heart attack.

Steve runs to the nearest intercom, built into the wall near the elevator, and jabs the button that will connect him to Iron Man. "Tony, what's going on?!"

Stark's answer is breezy, but Steve can hear high wind whistling in the background, and something roaring. "Hm, false alarm." On cue, the sirens fade and the lights return to their normal static white. "Some bozo with a dinosaur tried to attack the Tower. Hulk's got him. But the pterodactyl kind of…exploded into purple goo. Gonna take forever to clean-"

Steve disconnects, drops his head against the wall. Keeping the Avengers as public figures is a bad idea, as he's told the rest of them after each attack on the Tower. Romanoff, Barton, and Banner agree with him, as does most of SHIELD. But until he and Bruce find places of their own and the helicarrier gets rebuilt with a room for the spies, they don't really have a choice.

He shakes his head once, and turns back to the lab.

The portal jumper isn't where he left him, cowering under the table. Steve scours the lab, checks under the desks, inside all the cabinets that are big enough, behind the door the man had been running to. But he knows.

JARVIS confirms it.

He's missed his once chance at fixing things.

Jefferson is gone.

* * *

_**Several heartfelt apologies on the lack of women present in this. There will be more of the story, there will be more women in said 'more.'**_

_**Once again, I would like to stress that I have no idea what I'm doing.**_


	2. Later

**_Yo._**

**_AU right off the bat. No one fell into the hat. ...Imagine that._**

* * *

It's been a long, long time.

He has a daughter.

He loses her.

The curse is cast.

Emma comes to Storybrooke.

The curse breaks.

_**0o0o**_

Emma buries her face in her hands and fights the urge to groan aloud too. _"Jefferson,"_ she says through her fingers, before lifting her head and pinning the man with her eyes, "if you don't listen to Archie, you're not going to get better."

He stirs the little silver spoon around his cold tea. It's painted with a bounding white rabbit on the handle which he deliberately covers with his thumb, and it clinks against the china. "Emma. I'm not broken," is his stubborn response.

This is the biggest lie he's told in a long time, the biggest probably, since he told Grace he'd be home for tea. Regina had chipped him like Rumple's precious cup when she walked back through the mirror in Wonderland with her father and left him stranded there. Then the Queen of Hearts had found him and taken a hammer to the nick and broken him clean in half. He knew that the loose stitches he'd made in the 28 years since Storybrooke had been cursed into existence didn't make him whole, but he was afraid that if he admitted it out loud they would fray apart with every vowel and consonant until they snapped completely. And he couldn't let that happen.

"And maybe," he continues, setting the spoon down and taking a sip of his drink, "if the cricket had anything useful to say-"

"First of all, he's not a cricket anymore and he's asked you to stop calling him that." Emma can't remember how many times they've been over this. But Jefferson is bitter, and a jerk, and likes pissing her off. She knows he thinks that if he gets her angry enough she'll leave and he can get back to brooding alone with his hats while he waits for Grace. (Neither Jefferson or the Baker and his wife were too pleased about the other party's existence, despite having been neighbours once upon a time, since it meant that they had to arrange a schedule for Grace to be able to spend time with all of her parents. Emma, as the sheriff, had been called in to supervise the process; that was the first time she'd seen Jefferson since his poorly thought-out kidnapping of her and Mary Margaret, and the first chance they'd both had to sidestep around apologies and form a tentative friendship). She lives with Henry, though, and she's been dealing with Regina for the last year and a bit so if he really does plan to run her out, he'll have to try harder than this. "Second, you agreed to try."

Jefferson stares at her for a moment. Then he hangs his head, and slowly sets the teacup down on the glass table in the middle of his living room where they're sitting, pushes it away so it sits exactly in the center.

Emma takes it as a sign, and presses. "I know you're not crazy, and nobody thinks you are." (It was mostly true; he was rich, so they called him eccentric.) "Nobody says that. But you're not exactly…perfect." ('Readjustment-to-sanity issues' Henry had called it when he tried to convince Mary-Margaret Snow that the Mad Hatter wasn't a threat anymore). The Grace Schedule had been written up long enough ago that Emma has seen all possible variations of Jefferson's moods: the angry days, the manic days, the depressed days, and the okay days. He isn't a danger to anyone but himself (and the rather impressive collection of hats he's made over the years that's only as thin as it is because he's quite adept with his shears when he's upset) unless he's exposed to one or more of the triggers they've worked out. So she knows he's stable enough to live alone and run around town and take care of Grace. But that doesn't mean that he's whole.

"Archie's only trying to help. You agreed to see him, remember? If you don't follow his advice it just means you're wasting his time and yours, and there are plenty of other people in this wacky town who'd kill for your slot. Regina being one of them…" she finishes with a mutter, rubbing her hands together.

His shoulders tense at the mention of Regina, as everyone's tend to do. But he knows what Emma's saying. And he doesn't like it. Because Archie's right. "I know."

"So you'll do it?"

Jefferson looks up at her, his foot tapping an anxious beat on the thick white carpet. His eyebrows are pulled together in a pout that she thinks would've gotten him out of anything as a child, but his lips are pursed in a frown. It's a look that says, _'I know I have to but please don't make me'_ and she's seen it often on Henry (mostly on school days). She doesn't let it faze her now.

"Do you know how many people-?" he says. Abruptly, he stands, paces away from the glass coffee table and the couch Emma sits on. He stabs a finger at her, shaking his head. _"I'm_ not crazy," he asserts, "But you know what? This _plan_ is! I'm not a good person, Emma, and I'll be blue in the face with talking…Grace will be old and married and have kids by the time I'm done. And there will still be people I've forgotten! And if either you or that unqualified insect think I'm going within ten feet of Regina, you should march yourselves down to that psych ward-" His voice rises with each sentence and he punctuates his statements with aggressive finger jabs. He spins around, eyes wide, and slaps a hand over his face.

"Jefferson." It's spoken like a warning. Emma gets to her feet, gives him the Sheriff-Mom look she's had to use on both Henry and August that clearly tells him to settle down before she makes him.

Hand still over his mouth, he looks sideways at her. Calloused fingers scrape against a day's worth of stubble as he drops his hand back to his side. He turns to her and tilts his head in a silent challenge.

The Saviour accepts. She puts her hands on her hips, where her deliberately unloaded gun hangs in its holster, and pointedly raises her eyebrows at him. She knows what he's doing, if only because Archie told her, and she won't let him get away with it. "Sit down."

Scowling, he moves over to the couch and drops to the armrest. Its close enough, Emma decides, and remains standing. "You're avoiding it," she says.

"Because it's silly," he mutters, but doesn't look at her.

"Then why did you agree to it?" They both know why, but Emma needs (_he_ needs) to hear it out loud, in his own voice. And just in case he won't say it, she's preparing to use the one thing she knows _will_ work.

"So Jiminy would get his chitinous little fingers out of my head…"

"For Grace," she says. He stills. The constant twitching as he taps his fingers together, the tiny jitters of his foot up and down on the rug, all stops. It's all so natural for him; she hadn't realized he'd been moving so much until he's not. "You agreed to follow Archie's advice so that Grace wouldn't have to come home to find you locked in your sewing room, or smashing teacups in the kitchen, remember? So she doesn't have to walk in and find you a wreck on her bed…"

He looks up at her, and –oh, she thinks –that look isn't fair at all. His expression is heartbroken and heartbreaking, his eyes wide and wet, pained with the reminder that he's hurting Grace. Emma's gut twists with guilt but she can't take back her words and she knows doesn't (shouldn't) want to. It's necessary. No pain, no gain -isn't that how it goes?

"I know," he says again. He slides to his feet, steps over and bends to pick up the tray of tea things. He doesn't look at Emma.

"Jefferson?"

"I'll start tonight." He lifts the tray, and heads for the kitchen, still doesn't look at her.

She moves to follow him, opens her mouth but he cuts her off.

"_Tonight,_ Emma," he stresses, pausing in the living room doorway. Then he walks out.

Emma stands there for a moment, and then wordlessly lets herself out of the house.

_**0o0o**_

"Do you know why you can't move on?"

Jefferson lounged on the couch in Dr. Hopper's office. His hat sat on his lap (the one Emma had promised to help him _fix _later), his fingers played with a frayed edge of velvet, and his head leaned against the sofa backing. He didn't want to be here. Nobody ever wanted to be. Jefferson didn't answer.

"It's guilt," the cricket said.

"Guilt?" Jefferson laughed. "What do I have to be guilty about?" So many things, his mind supplied. Running away from home, conning his way through the Enchanted Forest, every single deal with Rumplestiltskin, helping to make Regina what she was…His mind didn't let think about Grace, but he had that to regret too.

"You were kept in another world against your will by a woman you said you knew not to trust. Then you were forced into the service of tyrant and tasked with finding your way home again through impossible means. You promised Grace you'd be home for tea."

Jefferson stiffens, and his blood runs cold until he is nothing but a statue. He isn't entirely sure that the cricket said the last bit, but it echoes in his head.

Promised Grace.

Home for tea.

"Your madness is founded on guilt and desperation."

_Home for tea._

_**Getittowork.**_

With monumental effort, he managed to shrug. "So you've read my story; it doesn't mean that you know me. I'm not guilty. And I'm not mad."

Archie leaned forward, his gaze earnest. The light glinted off his gold-rimmed glasses and Jefferson found himself distracted for a moment. It seemed too much to him like the flash of a needle as he stitched hat after hat after hat and hat in the unending day that was Wonderland. There was no night there, quite a lot of the time, except when there was, and he'd work until he dropped from his chair because he had to use the light while it lasted they never gave him candle when it was night for days the Queen just wasn't that generous-

"Jefferson?"

"Hm?" He forced a smile at the man who'd been a bug and yet a man before that. A man who now pretended to be a therapist because a healthy conscience and a curse told him he could be.

"I know you think you're fine –and let's say you are –it doesn't hurt to do some self-reflection. I want you to think for me of one time you made a mistake, just one. It could be anything. Forgetting a friend's birthday or leaving your daughter to wait for you at your neighbours' house while you cavorted around with the Evil Queen and got yourself stuck, you moron."

Okay, and Jefferson blinked, he was positive Archie hadn't say that one. Unless there was a spell on the room that forced you to face the lies you're tell yourself. But he doubted that. Guilt. Guilt? He's definitely guilty, but it filled him up and sloshed around like murky, watery tar and there's so much of it he didn't know what to do with it. Shoving it down hadn't worked in 28 years, not since he saw Grace again through the convenient telescopes he'd found at his windows.

"Guilty..." he breathed.

Archie looked at him expectantly, nodded just slightly. "Now I want you to go apologize."

_"What?"_

"Just pick one instance," Archie said, "one thing, and apologize. But then make a list. Go through it as you can. Take some of the guilt away. It'll be hard, I know" (He would, Jefferson thinks. As long as the story in Henry's book is accurate, Jiminy had royally screwed up with that trying to poison his parents' thing.) "but it'll help."

"Right." Jefferson's eyes had slid to the clock, and he'd grinned with relief. Time to go. He'd got to his feet, flipped his hat onto his head, and given the cricket as much of a bow as he could between the couch and the small wooden table cluttered with psychological magazines. "Well, see you next week."

"Jefferson?"

He'd paused with his hand on the doorknob, looked curiously but reluctantly back at the other man. Archie had got to his feet, and stood with his hands in his pockets.

"Give it a shot. What do you have to lose?"

Pride. A reputation. Possibly some blood, if he went to the wrong people.

What did he have to lose if he didn't?

_Grace._

Jefferson had all but run from the office.

_**0o0o**_

"How would like to go on a trip with me, dear Grace?" He asks later, hours after Emma's gone, and Grace has brought over her clothes for the weekend (her curse parents lived closer to the school, so they got her on weekdays). They've just finished dinner, and the dishes are waiting in the sink, the water in the kettle for a good boil. Grace sits at the dining table with a novel from the school's library spread open before her. She looks up at him though, as he slides into the seat beside her.

"But no one can leave the town, Papa," she says, "Not without losing their memories. That's what they told us."

"No, no one can _cross the town border_ without losing their memories. Lucky for you, I don't just cheat at cards." It's true; he frequently cheats at chess. But that isn't what he means. He grins as he watches her eye grow wide. He sees the exact moment she catches on.

"Are you saying we can take the hat? You're taking me to another world?!"

The paperback falls closed. His lips split into a dazzling smile that his daughter mimics. She jumps from her seat and smashes him into a hug that rocks the chair he's sitting in.

"I get to go to another world," she says breathlessly. She pulls away and looks up at him. "Henry's gonna be so jealous."

Jefferson laughs. He stands up and ruffles her long brown hair before nudging her toward the front entrance. "Get your shoes on, dormouse, and we can get going. Unless…" he drags out.

Grace stops her mad dash to the shoe mat and turns to look at him, hesitant, afraid he's going to rescind his offer.

"…You want to grab your camera first?"

Her face lights up and she pounds up the stairs instead. She'll have proof to show off to Henry now. His mother might be the Saviour, but she got to go realm-jumping.

Jefferson stays smiling at the place she disappeared for moment, before striding to the living room and pulling up the hatbox he'd lost to Regina so many years ago.

Emma had, after some time, come to Jefferson without any convincing on his part with the carrying case, and offered to help him fix his hat. He was pretty sure it was part contingency, part curiosity, and at least a little guilt, but he wasn't going to turn down an offer like that. They spent an afternoon on it, choosing the right hat out of his collection, shaping Emma's magic…testing their results. They spent an hour in the Realm Room, that beautiful room between the worlds that was all his, though they didn't venture through any doors. He was waiting for the right time, sometime when they didn't have their kids waiting for them. This guilt thing of Archie's seems like a good time.

Grace runs back down the stairs and slips her shoes on, finds him easily in the living room beside the grand piano. She's got her camera on a strap around her neck, and her hair pulled into a ponytail. Her cheeks are glowing red with excitement.

Jefferson takes her hand in one of his, and grips the felt of the hat's brim in his left. He snaps his wrist and drops the hat, sends it spinning on the carpet as smoky cerise and gold energy (purely Emma's) swirls out over the rim.

Grace threads their fingers as he yells over the vortex for her to jump.

They jump together, disappearing into the magic. Gradually, it fades, sucking itself into the cap until the living room is silent, nothing out of place but the black top hat on the floor.

* * *

_**(Jefferson seems very Jack Harkness (except for the the flirting) and that's helping me expand from the few bits of him post-Wonderland that we get, even if it's not too spot on.)**_

_**Also my 'psychology' is shit and should be ignored.**_

_**(I still don't know what I'm doing.)**_


	3. Even Later

_**(I thought I ought to know what I was doing this time. Didn't work.)**_

_**Post-CA: The Winter Soldier**_

_**In which Jefferson didn't do his homework very well, and Steve can hold a grudge.**_

* * *

It's raining cats and dogs outside the Tower. Rain rattles against the reinforced glass beside her as Pepper walks along, tapping manicured nails on the Stark data pad as she sorts through folders of troubling information. She looks up as the battering escalates and sense of relief steals over her that their current guest had found his way here before the sky had opened up and started dumping several days' worth of freezing water on them.

The muffled pounding of the rain, and the sharp_ tack_ of her footsteps on dusty tiles, echoes back from the drywall and steel girders that make up the half-finished storey. Other than herself, the entire level is empty, off-limits technically, while renovation is done after the last attack on the Tower. It feels hollow, and there are a million other places she could go that would qualify as a solitary haven but this was the first button she'd pushed on the elevator. It's quiet, so she stays.

The information on the Starkpad is troubling, and it's taking a lot of self-control not to let the tears that cloud her vision fall. This is why she's isolated herself though, just in case they do, because the last thing anyone needs is to deal with her current overabundance of empathy. She just needs to get the file read through once, and then she'll be fine. Then she can focus on helping.

"Ms. Potts?"

Pepper sniffs, shocked at the sudden voice coming from the pad in her hands, and pauses.

"JARVIS?"

"I didn't mean to alarm you," the AI says, picking up the skip in her heartbeat where her palm touches the glass of the tablet, "but you have unexpected guests."

Frowning, Pepper looks behind her to the elevator, and then glances around the room in confusion. The floor is just as empty as it's been since she came up here. Maybe the storm's messing with JARVIS' remote connection (although, she thinks, that hasn't happened in years).

"Welcome back, Mr. Jefferson," JARVIS says.

"JARVIS, there's-" Pepper cuts off, raising her eyebrows in surprise as she catches movement in her peripheral vision and looks up to find two people standing on the threshold of a previously empty door frame. "Oh."

It's a man and a small girl, clutching tightly to each other's hands like they're afraid the other is going to disappear. The man looks pale and strained, and stands rigid in place, but the girl's face is excited as she peers around, like she's expecting to find something other than the under-construction skyscraper she's standing in.

"Hello," Pepper says, at a loss for the appropriate procedure for strangers appearing out of thin air. The least she can do is act civil, call up the panic button on the data pad, and hope that these two aren't enemies of the Avengers.

"Good morning," the man says quietly.

The voice is strained, familiar, Pepper thinks, and she steps closer to get a better look at him. Eyes narrowing, she scans his face. _"Bucky?"_

But that's impossible. The Winter Soldier is downstairs with Steve, shut up in a guest room while the Captain tries to get him settled, and maybe to open up about where he's been for the last few months. But other than the clean-shaven face and the short hair, this man looks identical. Pepper takes a quick peek at his left hand, the one holding onto the little girl: flesh and bone. Not Bucky.

But the man winces like he recognizes her confusion. "My name's Jefferson. This is my daughter, Grace."

Pepper introduces herself, and catches the way the girl's eyes narrow. "You've been here before, I take it?"

Jefferson nods, lips pressed firmly together. "Is Steve here?" he asks. His daughter tugs on his arm, and though he leans down slightly, he shakes his head and doesn't answer her call for attention.

"He's downstairs," Pepper starts, unsure of whether or not the Captain would appreciate an interruption, especially one that looks like this, "But this isn't a good time. Have you-?"

A brief jingle from the Starkpad makes Pepper look down. An icon flashes, an IM from Tony.

'_JARVIS says you're talking to that crazy world-hopping pansy _I told you_ wasn't a hallucination. Tell him I want my stuff back :('_

She resists the urge to roll her eyes and types back, _'You hated that stuff anyway. I'll ask before he leaves.'_

'_Keep him away from anything expensive.'_

Pepper turns the data pad off and tucks it under her arm. "Well," she says, "the least we can do is let Steve know you're here."

She smiles politely at the father and daughter, leads them into the elevator, and touches the button for the community floor.

"Papa," the girl whispers, a vain effort in such a tiny space but Pepper pretends she can't hear anyway. "They're real! You know the Avengers?"

"No," Jefferson answers quietly back, "I was only here for maybe an hour, a long time ago. And it wasn't the best first impression." He seems to be quite bad at those lately. He still hasn't really apologized to Emma for drugging her at their first meeting; he's been waiting for a good time, some way to make it special so that she knows he truly means it. 'Sorry' won't cut it with her. It won't cut it here.

The elevator doors open to a room Jefferson's never seen before: open, carpeted, with a big fireplace, a bigger television, and a smattering of leather couches and chairs. There's a bar nestled in the corner beside a wall of windows, stocked with bottles in all of the rainbow's colours. A woman stands behind the counter, dropping ice cubes into a glass.

She pretends to ignore them as they come closer, but Jefferson can see her quick assessment of them, the way she casually angles herself to face them. He misses the minute widening of her eyes, though.

"Natasha," Pepper says.

"Hey." Natasha reaches behind the counter and pulls out a thin bottle, pours amber liquid into her glass. "Who're your friends?"

"This is Jefferson, the dimension-hopper Tony scared away a few years ago…"

"The one who swiped his stupid figurines on the way out? I wanted to thank you for that, except he still won't shut up about it. I'm Natasha." She sticks a hand out and they shake. Her hands are strong and calloused, but not like his. Needles and scissors leave different marks from those of guns and knives, and he is very glad he's only meeting her after Henry's very brief descriptions of the Avengers. Black Widow, Master Assassin.

The woman bends down and tips her head at his daughter. "And who's this?"

"I'm Grace," the girl says, ignoring the warning squeeze of her father's hand. "It's _really_ cool to meet you."

"Yeah?" Natasha's got a small grin on her face, "Well, I think it's cool to meet you. Crossing dimensions is a pretty rare thing. You're lucky."

"Yeah, but _you're_ the Black Widow. And you're real. I thought we were the only-"

"Grace," Jefferson shakes his head at her, a small warning not to go flaunting their neighbours' stories. He isn't sure why he doesn't want it known that their lives are children's tales (and he knows that if they really wanted to, the women could easily wheedle the information out of Grace) but he feels like maybe it's a secret best kept, like the nature of his portal. It doesn't cross his mind that maybe he's embarrassed, he doesn't let it.

Natasha glances at him, and then presses the glass into Grace's hand as she straightens up.

"Relax, its apple juice," she says, at the look on Jefferson's face. "So, people don't usually cross universes to return to the scenes of their crimes two years later. What brings you here?"

"I need to talk to Steve." He wonders how many times he'll have to say it.

"It's not a good time." And how many times he'll have to hear that.

"I know." But he's not leaving. If he leaves, then the excuse that he gave it a good try becomes valid and he won't be coming back, cricket's advice or not. "But it's important."

Natasha stares at him for a long moment, searching, then shrugs and disappears down the hallway to the left. Grace fiddles with her camera; Pepper tells them it'll just be a minute. Jefferson kneels down and looks up at Grace.

"I just need to talk to Captain Rogers for a few minutes. I won't be long."

"I'll stay right here, Papa."

"Maybe you can ask Ms. Potts turn on the TV for you?" He glances at Pepper, who smiles and nods. Grace beams.

"Do you have a USB?" she asks. "Papa, can I show them some of the comic pages I took pictures of?"

Jefferson stands up, a light frown on his face, but Grace doesn't wait for an answer and bounces over to the other side of the room after Pepper.

There are muffled footsteps on the white carpet as Natasha returns with Steve. She slips right past Jefferson and plunks herself down on the arm of a couch as Pepper plays with a button-crowded remote control and tries to balance two others in her opposite hand.

It's clear that the assassin has already enlightened Steve of his presence here; the soldier's face is carefully neutral, his shoulders tense and slightly defensive. He's stopped at the entranceway, and doesn't look willing to come much closer.

"What are you doing here?" Steve says in a voice free of inflection.

Jefferson takes a few precise steps towards him. "I owe you a trip."

Then he grimaces. Yes, he's sure that's exactly what Steve wants to hear. Maybe he should teach classes on how to apologize. Lesson one: do not directly address the issue, rather step around it and offer distracting treats instead.

And Steve takes it about as well as he should. He glares, crosses his arms. "Two years overdue. What's the interest rate?"

This time, he flinches. He's not sure if its guilt or the sudden realization that getting Steve to understand that he's sincere will be nigh on impossible. Especially when his first instinct is to shrug on the carefree millionaire who greeted Emma the first time, and pretend he doesn't. "I'm paying it. It's only been two years for _you_; I've had a long time think about this. Let me make it up to you."

"You say 'this' and 'it-'"

"And I mean 'making it up to you,' and 'what I left you with.' I'm here to apologize."

"Apologize," Steve says, a tiny grin crooking his lips. "Right. Look, I don't have time for this, so why don't you run back to your magic portal and-"

"No," Jefferson says, shaking his head. "_Listen._ I _need_ to apologize! I knew exactly what you wanted and I guessed at the why, and I was using it against you. But I know what it's like now-"

Rage darkens Steve's face and he crosses the short distance between them in two long strides. He looms over the portal-jumper. "You _know what it's like?_ What happened, get screwed out of a jewelry box? I'm sure you're just overflowing with empathy, and that's great, but this really isn't the time. So leave."

Jefferson smiles, and it's not a happy expression. He looks Steve in the eye and says, "Someone close to you disappears..."

"Jefferson," Steve says warningly.

"...lost forever, or so you think."

Super soldier or not, there's nothing this man can do to him that wasn't done better by the Queen of Hearts. His scar prickles at the thought of Wonderland, and he corrals his thoughts away from that track. This isn't the time, not here, not in front of Steve.

"Someone offers you a way back and you accept!"

_"Don't."_

"It doesn't work, and it _burns_." Jefferson brings clawed hands to shred at the air by his temples, his face twisted with anger, "It _tears_ at you!"

Steve doesn't see red; he sees crimson paisley and grabs at the scarf, dragging the portal-jumper so close the guy's on tip-toes. "I said don't."

He's well aware of Natasha watching them in the reflection of whatever picture Stark's got on the wall this month, but he's also aware that if she objected, she wouldn't just be watching. Instead, she shakes her head slightly at him and subtly rubs at her throat. He reluctantly lets go and takes a step back, glaring at the man in front of him.

Jefferson doesn't move except to settle back down on flat feet and to let one corner of his pouty lips pull up against his glower.

"Do you want the jump or not?" he asks, and Steve can hear the finality in the question.

He looks behind him down the hallway.

This is the last offer, his last chance to go back and fix things (unless he can manage to find someone else powerful and indifferent enough to let him rewrite history). Two years ago he'd said 'yes' in less time than it took him to lose his whole world. But now that he's got the choice again, now that he's spent time in the future and made a team and _found Bucky_…now, he's not so sure.

Yes, he can go back and save Bucky, before they brainwash him, before they change him, before he _falls._ But then what? He'll have Bucky, they'll win the war, they'll grow old (or Bucky will, is a horrifying notion he quickly squashes) and die. Life will go on…except that it won't. Loki and his army, HYDRA and whatever substitute they pick to be their Winter Soldier, the looming threat of the mutants, the rise of supervillains –Fury was right, the world needs Captain America.

But Bucky needs Steve.

Steve needs Bucky.

He looks back at the portal-jumper.

"Yes," he says.

**0o0o**

Jefferson doesn't take his daughter as a shield. That's ridiculous.

He doesn't bring her in the hopes that having a child with him will discourage any bodily harm to his person; his thoughts don't get that far.

He just doesn't want to be away from her again. If he gets stranded in another world because Emma's magic fails or the hat is destroyed or _something_, he wants Grace to be with him.

He will not let them be separated any more.

**0o0o**

They stand in silence for several minutes.

Then Natasha cackles (honestly, and Jefferson may not be the person to ask, but he doesn't think comic-Clint's old, _very purple,_ skirted costume is that bad), startles the both of them into looking over.

"Who's she?" Steve asks, nodding at the little girl he hadn't noticed before.

"She's my daughter," Jefferson says, smiling faintly but fondly at the little girl, "My Grace."

"Daughter?" Steve's gaze drops to the man's left hand, and then he really looks at the portal-jumper. He hadn't noticed before (because he _still_ looks exactly like Bucky and because Steve has been doing his best to _not see_ that) but Jefferson looks at least ten years older than the last time he'd seen him. "How long has it been for you?"

"A lifetime," Jefferson says bitterly, grinning like there's some inside joke, and picking at his fingers. He makes some odd motion with his hands that Steve can't decipher and then glares at the wall.

Steve decides not to ask. He looks back at the hallway, and then at Jefferson.

"So," he says. "Magic portal ride."

Jefferson shakes his head. "We can't go right now. I'll have to come back…"

"Why?" Steve narrows his eyes, looming again. The phrase 'fool me once…' hollers out from the back of his mind. He's not going to let this man out of his sight, not going to let the coward run again. They have a deal, and Jefferson's going uphold his end even if Steve has to dig his own hole in the universe and carry the man across.

"There's a rule," Jefferson says, meeting his eyes and making that motion with his hands again, "for the portal. The same number of people that go in have to come out. You can't take anyone back without- leaving someone there."

Steve does the math rather quickly, all things considered (even if he gets the wrong answer).

He huffs a laugh and then drops his head, puts his hands on his hips. He's not quite sure what his face is doing when he looks back up, but it's probably disbelief. "So before, even if you hadn't run I couldn't have come with you. You- you are…unbelievable."

Steve's not sure if he wants to strangle him or throw him off the roof. Maybe hand him over to Tony for those CAT scans or however the billionaire was going to test for magic. A good solid right hook if it wouldn't pop his head off (if the daughter wasn't here). Wait-

Steve looks from Jefferson to the girl, to Jefferson again, and narrows his eyes. "Why is she here? Were you…? You're not going to leave your own daughter in another world? What if something happens?"

Jefferson blinks, frowns like he doesn't quite understand what was just said even as his lips open to retort. Steve can see when it clicks; the portal-jumper's face goes red. "You-!

Before he can recover enough to say much of anything, however, Steve hears the sound he's been dreading. He glances back at the hallway, then grabs Jefferson by the collar and hauls him into the nearest empty room off the lounge.

"What the-?"

"Shh!"

Steve keeps the door cracked open, peering out through the inch of space he allows between the wood panel and the frame. Jefferson stays hunched over the chair he's been thrown at, warily examining the soldier crouched down and spying through a door, before he slinks over. He puts a steadying elbow on Steve's shoulders and leans over to peek into the lounge as well.

"What are we looking at?"

At first, there's nothing to see but the wall of rain-streaked windows and the corner of the bar. Then Jefferson hears, over the murmur of Pepper's and Grace's conversation, the light pad of feet treading slowly over carpet. Steve tenses, shrugs Jefferson off, and turns around to look at him with a finger to his lips. Then he goes back to watching.

Out of the recess of the hallway, a man edges into view, and both Jefferson and Steve freeze. He's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and his hair is longer than Jefferson ever let his get even in Wonderland, but he knows who this is. How can he not? It's only a profile, but it's the same face he sees every day, in every reflective surface he comes across. But didn't Bucky die?

The man doesn't take more than two steps before Natasha is there, speaking softly but firmly in Russian. They hear him ask a faint question that, by the little tilt of her head, Steve knows she evades. Jefferson wishes his still had the enchanted coin that let him understand languages, but it's been lost to Regina's curse for twenty-eight years. He tries to watch body language, but it's faint in both of them to the point of nonexistence.

Natasha calmly lifts her right hand and offers the hallway, inviting Bucky back to wherever he came from. The man stares, unmoving, at her for a long moment, before finally he gives a minute nod and lets the assassin shadow him back down the corridor. When he turns, there's a flash of silver, and horror spills cold water over Jefferson's guts. He leans back.

Steve closes the door and turns to fall against it, pulling his knees up.

"He can't know you're here," the solider says, "He's running a high fever and whatever they did to him to make him forget is…He's not in a good place right now. If he saw you, I don't know what he'd think. Maybe that I was trying to replace him. Wouldn't that be just excellent."

Jefferson wants to ask about Bucky, about the metal arm, about how he's still alive but he hears the word, the one word Steve said that he's been begging himself for years to do.

"…Forget?"

Steve looks up at him, something in his voice (does he sound as desperate as he always does? The curse is broken, he doesn't need to forget anymore) making the man frown.

"Yeah," Steve says carefully, his narrowed eyes searching Jefferson's face, "HYDRA, they, uh, wiped his mind, turned him into a machine. He doesn't remember much, just enough that he couldn't let me die, that he found his way here."

"He doesn't remember…anything?"

_How ironic is that?!_ Jefferson's mind screams at him as he sniggers, eyes crinkling. It's painful. He's on the edge of hysterics. _In all the realms, what are the odds? He and Bucky! An arm and a head!_

Jefferson laughs until he collapses back on the chair from earlier, his eyes wet, his lungs crying for air.

_He doesn't remember!_

He keeps laughing. It hurts. He can't stop.

Steve slaps him.

With a hiccup, Jefferson sobers, and it's only Steve's grip on his collar again that keeps him from melting to the floor.

"What's wrong with you?" Steve looks like he doesn't know whether to be angry or scared, so Jefferson picks for him. Scared is better (even though he's _fine_), that slap hurt. His cheek feels swollen.

"He _forgot!"_

"What-?"

"Two different men in two different realms. Both have the same face," he explains, waving vaguely at his own. "And he can't remember! I _couldn't forget_. Steve, I'd have done anything –I did do anything –but I always, _always_ remembered. The whole town forgot but not me. That was my curse!"

He blinks rapidly, staring up at Steve like that account was supposed to make sense. Maybe it would, to someone else. What town? What curse?

Steve catches him making that frantic sewing gesture again, and clamps his hands firmly around the other's wrists until he stops fighting. Jefferson looks ready to run anywhere that Steve isn't, so Steve remains where he is, standing in front of the occupied chair.

Jefferson cracks his neck nervously and Steve catches something he definitely wasn't supposed to. It's pretty well hidden behind the scarf and only visible because grabbing at the man's collar so much has loosened the fold in the paisley fabric. He feels something twist in his core.

"What the Hell happened to you?"

Because as much as he'd like to be done with the portal-jumper, _that's_ not a normal scar, not at all, and he needs that story. There's only one thing he can think of that would make that kind of wound and he's pretty sure it has a 100% fatality rate.

Jefferson gives him a smile that would have been gleeful if it wasn't so crazed. "I left my daughter in another world," he says, parroting Steve. "Something happened."

Steve gives him his best 'Well, No Shit' Face and asks, "You want to elaborate?"

Jefferson's hands twitch again, and he grimaces. "No."

"Jefferson-"

"_No."_

"Alright." Steve knows when not to push. He locks his curiosity away and carefully offers a hand to help the man up.

"It's time for us to go." Jefferson crosses the room and opens the door. Staring at the doorknob, he says, "Pleasure doing business with you, Captain. We'll be back."

He and Steve have reached an agreement, hesitant, shaky, hardly even a deal; but he's done what he came here to do, and neither he nor the Captain want to spend too much more time together. They managed to be civil, had a little heart-to-heart. He doesn't want to push it.

"Yeah." Steve follows the man out, and they walk over to the TV and the women chatting on the couches.

"Grace," Jefferson says, "time to go."

"Aw, Papa!" But she sets about cleaning up, grabbing the camera and carefully disconnecting it, rolling up the posters that Natasha suddenly appears with.

As Grace says goodbye to Pepper, the assassin turns to Jefferson. "Why is a raven like a writing-desk?" she asks.

Jefferson flinches and mutters "I don't know," without looking at her. He takes Grace's hand as the girl rounds the couch, and lets Pepper show them back up to the frame of a door that they came through without saying anything more.

"What was that about?" Steve asks, glancing down at Nat as the elevator closes.

She looks sharply at him. "You didn't bother to find out who he was?"

"Beyond the obvious? No. You know, somehow, it didn't come up in our conversation."

Natasha raises her eyebrows, "Well congrats, Steve. You just had your first tête-à-tête with a literary character."

The assassin rolls over the edge of the sofa and lies with her back on the cushions, her feet bobbing in Steve's face. She snatches a remote off the glass table between her couch and the TV, and calls up some of the photos JARVIS had transferred off the girl's camera.

"Grace, the little one," Nat waves vaguely at the elevator with her free hand, clicking through pictures with the other, "says that the world they just came from is almost identical to ours, but it's not where they're originally from. _Apparently, _the Evil Queen cast a curse that brought a bunch of people from their original land to a land without magic…"

Well, Steve thinks, that had been what Jefferson was after the first time, right? But 'curse?' This was the same curse the man had gotten hysterical over?

"…as revenge on Snow White."

Steve snaps his attention away from the off-centre picture of a very large, blue building (mansion? hotel?) and down to Nat, disbelief in his expression.

"_Snow White?"_

The woman grins at him, and nods back toward the screen. A young woman, her round face framed by pixie-cut black hair, smiles at the photographer as she holds up a squat candle. "She's a schoolteacher now and Grace's best friend's grandmother."

"Grandmother? She looks hardly old enough to be having her first kid."

"I know," Nat sighs, teasing, "so jealous. No, this is where the curse gets fun." She keeps up a little slide show as she talks, "See, they didn't just get cut-and-pasted (That's Red Riding Hood); they got locked in time for twenty-eight years (Mother Goose), which was long enough for Snow's kid to grow up and come save everyone (Pinocchio)."

The pictures flash by faster and faster –a school, a diner, the long-distance shot of a pawnshop, the big house again, and then hats. There's picture after picture, what looks like several roomfuls, of all kinds of headwear, followed by a family photo of Grace and Jefferson wearing ridiculous, oversized top hats and sitting behind a child's clay tea set.

"Uh…" Steve really doesn't know what to say to that, but he thinks he knows now what Nat wanted to tell him, at least. "Jefferson said something about the town forgetting?"

The pictures change back to small-town scenery and fairy-tale neighbours. Natasha lifts herself up to look directly at the soldier, keeps her slideshow going. Somberly, she reports, "Yeah. The curse didn't just dump them somewhere new, it rewrote them. Gave them new lives and buried the old ones so far down that some of them are still having trouble figuring out who's who."

Steve rolls it over in his mind and ends up feeling slightly queasy. Yes, Jefferson would have known what it was like, with him and Bucky. If he was the only one who remembered himself, then his daughter wouldn't have been his daughter. The curse would've kept her from remembering him, no matter how hard he tried to get her to. Steve thinks that if it were him, he would've gone insane (Hell, he is going insane; he's running himself in circles trying to help Bucky). And if the man was already a little Mad…

"I need to check on Buck," he says, grimacing as the photos cycle back and Natasha stops on the hats.

She doesn't say anything as he turns and heads back up the hallway, wondering if he should stop to make some soup first, something thin that his friend can keep down. But he decides he'll check in first; he's been gone long enough.

His footsteps stutter when he realizes he and the Hatter never agreed when to meet again, just that they would. The man could be coming back later today. Or maybe he has to find someone willing to stay in the Avengers' world first? How long would that take? What's the time conversion if it's been two years here, but ten and twenty-eight for them?

Steve might have to ask Natasha to keep an eye on Bucky until he…well.

"Shit," Steve huffs. Guess he'll just have to wait. And hope Jefferson doesn't screw him over again.

* * *

_**Someone help me with this?  
**_


End file.
